The View From the Hill
by Miss Manic Dysfunction
Summary: Sequel of Sorts to "The Rose of Immortality." 411, oneshot. Marluxia's thoughts on Vexen, on rebellion, and on life in general.


**Don't even **_**think **_**of adding this story to your favorites and not reading the Rose of Immortality.**

**Anyway, this is the sequel (of sorts) to the Rose of Immortality. Please note that this **_**might **_**take the edge off of RoI, so if you liked Roses as it was, don't read this. It was merely a product of insomnia and too much thought. But, of course, if you're a Roses fan or a fan of me (but I doubt that), read on.**

The View from the Hill

For once, nothing could be heard from the Academic's lab but the sounds of panting. Vexen half-stood, half-sat near the edge of a lab table, the same table where he had been pinned only moments before. The only thing between him and a fall to the floor was my hand, clasped firmly on his shoulder to prevent that from happening. He had long since ceased his screaming, but I could see it in his eyes. He was not yet prepared to give up.

For those of you that are wondering, we were both fully clothed, though all but one lab table was stripped of its contents. I glanced at the one table still in tact and smirked. As if on cue, his fingers clasped my wrist, and a beg for mercy crossed his normally stoic features. I decided to spare this table, just for the moment, and released his shoulder with no second thought. Then he was simply a gasping heap at my feet, eying the broken beakers strewn across the cheap linoleum floor. I'm not sure, but I thought I heard him sigh in remorse.

"Stop trying," was the first thing I had spoken since I had entered this place. I curbed the desire to kick his exposed stomach and continued, "You can't even feel anything."

Silence.

And then Vexen glanced up at me with his deep-set eyes, "Try following your own advice. Then maybe people would follow it."

--

Larxene wasn't a bad person. Sure, everyone thought she was a little slut whose only desire was to hurt others. Everyone thought that she was selfish, loose, and disagreeable. But I did not think so. We were very similar, me and her. We both loved softer music, ranging from alternative to blues to classical. We enjoyed relaxing on couches and drinking hot drinks when it rained or snowed. And we both wanted one thing: acceptance.

What was funny, though, was that we hardly ever spoke. Our conversations would be entirely nonverbal. She could call me a faggot and I'd still understand that, by the wave of her hand, she really just wanted me to sit next to her and say something—anything. It needn't be anything kind or deep or poetic. That's how well I knew her, and I don't know why we're as close as we are.

I remember waking her up late one night when I couldn't sleep. She swore at me enough to make a sailor blush, but in the end she left the safety of her blankets and joined me at the window. We gazed up at Kingdom Hearts for what felt like hours. And then she put her hand on my knee. It was almost as if I could feel her insecurity, the fear of what might happen when all is done, and if we were even doing the right thing. All these questions poured through my mind, and I understood her completely, even if I couldn't understand why I did.

She laughed at Xigbar's jokes, acted as if she was tougher than nails, and said yes to anyone who asked because she couldn't have a heart, she would have acceptance.

_I wished I could help her,_I remember thinking. And then I realized that I was not so different.

--

Vexen was back on the steel table with my hand on his neck. The cacophony of wheezes and hacks was enough to drive anyone crazy.

"Please," he managed to gasp. I could almost feel his fingernails through my sleeve. I ignored his plea and pressed harder.

"Say another word," I snarled, "and I will kill you."

But we both knew I wouldn't.

Or, at least, I did.

--

After the night with Larxene, I spent days in the library. Our library was home to almost every book known to man. I flipped through their dog-eared pages, memorizing their moth-eaten words down to the very ink in which they were printed. The books were written in different times, by different men, and in different worlds, but they all had the same theme. I only read books on change—about people rising against oppressive governments and changing everything that government lay down. Revolution began to inspire me.

I began to think: What would I get from Xemnas? And what has he given me so far? What does he _really_ want?

Every day, my doubt in his leadership grew. At first it was a rage, a sort of, "what the hell am I getting for this?" kind of thing. And then, I began to lust. No, not for the Superior—he was dull, poorly spoken, and nothing that would ever catch my interest. What I wanted was his position. I wanted to call the shots, to be the big dog, the top banana, the head honcho, whatever the fuck you want to call it.

And in rebelling, I could also help my friend with her problem.

But how would one go about overthrowing a man with so many loyal retainers?

--

Vexen now sat on the table, staring at me in a way that drove my growing paranoia over the edge. Enraged by the cold sting of distrust that now lay between me and him, I over-turned another lab table and turned to face him.

"Stop it!" I barked.

Vexen looked away, gazing at the not-so-ruined tables across the lab. Then, he looked down and muttered, "Hypocrite."

Glass crashed against the linoleum. Vexen cringed at the sound.

"You," I snarled, "are not to defy your superiors."

Vexen scoffed.

"I said it earlier," he said. He looked up at me, his hair hanging in strands over his face. "You give good advice, but you rarely ever follow it."

--

Ironic as it was, Vexen kept me warm at night. I would curl up beside him, forgetting the tedious facts of daily life in the scent of his skin. I suppose some may say that he made me feel "whole." I think it to be a load of crap. I didn't find anything about him exciting or impressive, but he accepted me, and for that I was grateful.

In spite of our mis-matched alliance, I found myself sleeping with him, burying my face in his hair, and lying to him every chance I could. I began to enjoy the way he would gasp when I pushed too hard, or when I yanked a bit of hair. I listened for the sounds of his contented sighs, the true sign of him falling into a deep slumber.

But… I didn't understand him.

That would not bug me for months to come.

--

Castle Oblivion was given to me. I guess I owed it to Xigbar, who threw in several good comments for me. I made a mental not to give him a high position when I destroyed Xemnas.

Given the freedom of not being under Xemnas's thumb 24/7, I could now begin my rebellion.

And that's when Vexen ceased to be the joy (or morphine—either way) he used to be.

--

"Kill him, Axel."

"What?"

"You heard me. Rid us of our traitor."

A smirk. "Yes, sir."

--

I never knew what Vexen thought of me. Sometimes I thought he, too, would have remained by my side if we were to regain our hearts. But most of the time, I was certain that he would hate me, if he only could. It was that same ignorance that made me despise him.

If only I knew, then maybe it would not have come to this.

--

**Marluxia seems OoC for some reason... **

**Oh well. At least it's not like he's a transvestite or something.. -sigh-**


End file.
